Watch Me Fall, Watch Me Fly
by An Eleanor Jane
Summary: Cas had been out on the street for four years, cursed with the power to hear people's thoughts. Desperate and running from his family, when he finds the Supernatural Circus it seems like Heaven. But as he goes deeper he sees the dark spiral of lies that make up the circus, and the devastating secrets of a cocky green-eyed boy at the heart of it all.
1. Helpless Angel

**I hope you enjoy!**

 **Warnings: mentions of murder, child abuse, and violence. If this is going to trigger you, please don't read.**

 **I don't own Supernatural, sadly.**

The wind was the type that cut straight through him, cutting right to his bones and instantly numbing his fingers and toes. There were eight holes in his worn down shoes, nineteen holes in his battered trench coat, and he had had to throw his tie in the bin. He felt oddly bare without it.

He curled up even tighter, closing his eyes tight. Hunger's familiar ache lingered in his stomach, and he counted the few coins in his pocket once again. Not enough. It was never enough to fill his stomach or to warm him up or to make him feel human again. Heavy, staggering footsteps passed by, sending a spray of stinging gravel into his face. Drunken mumbled blurred into one above him, drowned out by the man's thoughts. **_Suzie. Whiskey, pubs, whiskey. So cold. Suzie. My Suzie. I'm sorry Suzie. So cold. Suzie._** Castiel Novak sat up, opening his eyes a little more. The city was loud tonight. Roaring cars flashing by, drunken giggles and slurred insults pricked at his sleep starved brain. He needed to get some sleep soon. Soon his body would shut down, unable to heat itself on the little food he could scrounge up. His hair would start to fall out, and he would be totally unable to defend himself. Vulnerable. Just another helpless teen on the streets of a cold unforgiving city in the great United States of America.

He stood up, seeking somewhere away from here. Ducking down a dark alleyway, he stumbled over a homeless man and apologised hurriedly, striding away from the Sound. **_Quantum physics. String theory. I almost had it all. I almost had it all._** Cas picked up his pace, suddenly needing to get far away from the deafening Sound of the city. He walked and walked until his legs wouldn't move anymore, and then he curled up underneath a doorway and closed his eyes. The Sound still stabbed at him, and he left trails of blood down the side of his face with his sharp nails as he scratched in a feverous desperation. The cuts stung, but the Sound still roared on.

His mind wandered briefly to silk sheets, walls thick enough to block out all Sound. To finely cooked breakfasts served on silver platters and the hot sun on your shoulders as your feet kicked around in cool turquoise water. Now the cold seeped to his bones, and rocks dug sharply into him like devil's fingernails.

He would never go back. Sleeping on worn sheets was better than sleeping on blood money, and being homeless was better than being a killer.

Before allowing himself to rest his aching leg, his stomach pulled him into a small shop. He placed his pitiful change on the counter and didn't look at the security camera. The pretty shop assistant with heavy eyeliner and purple hair fetched him some bread and a carton of milk without him even asking. **_Poor guy. Homeless. I wonder why. He's probably a junkie. Only looks young, what is he, sixteen?_** He thanked her, turning and walking out the door. The loaf of bread had a hastily stuck yellow sticker, and was well past his due date. To Cas, it tasted like the most beautiful thing he had ever tasted. He only allowed himself two slices and a mouthful of milk: the food was far too precious to vomit in some gutter somewhere. Finally he let himself close his tired eyes.

Cold sun rose in a colder sky when Castiel opened his eyes. Either the Sound growing louder and louder had woken him, or the pained turning of his stomach tore him from his restless sleep. He immediately started to walk, the nearly deafening Sound washing through him. Snapshots of different people's lives melded into one teeming mass of thoughts and emotions, making his eyes itch and brain throb.

 ** _Please don't._**

 ** _I'm sorry._**

 ** _I'm so late._**

 ** _They're gonna fire me._**

 ** _I need my hair done right now._**

 ** _What if he doesn't like me?_**

 ** _When's the earliest to have a drink?_**

 ** _I'm scared._**

 ** _I need coffee, stupid phone._**

He tried to power straight through and not listen, even as the city turned to suburbs, which in turn changed to sprawling fields and the occasional house or run down shop. He didn't stop placing one foot in front of the other until the Sound had turned into a quiet hum and he could hear himself think.

A crumpled map in his pocket told him to keep going East, but all that was in front of him were fields and a smattering of unhealthy trees. In the distance a river threaded through the dull green, and beyond that yet more square buildings.

Ordinary buildings stacked like bricks, full of ordinary people with ordinary lives. For the briefest moment he ached to be like them: the women in ironed pencil skirts and men in pressed suits talking loudly about nothing at all. Then the briefest moment passed, and he was just a fifteen year old boy sat on a low hill in the middle of nowhere with aching legs and a fast beating heart.

Then he stood up once again and continued to walk. Harsh plastic cut into his hands and banged into his knees with every trembling step, as his stomach growled and complained. The familiar twisting hunger nearly made him succumb to the promise of his last slice of stale bread. He trekked up another endless hill, until he reached the top and sank to his knees. His legs ached more with every step, and he reached into the bag of milk and bread once again. There was only one slice left. One slice of bread, one swallow of milk. Only a few minutes until the sun hid its face behind the hills, and the barren hill offered no protection from the cold night. Hugging his legs closer towards him, he let out a single hopeless sob.

Then the rain began. One minute the dark sky was empty, the next rain poured down like a waterfall. Thunder rumbled and lighting cracked, the rain hammering down on his slumped shoulders. Tears mixed with raindrops, shivers racking through him. Dark clouds continued to churn above him as he turned his swollen eyes to the sky, and it almost looked like the world was ending. He almost wanted it to.

He struggled to his feet, clutching the bag tighter to him with numb hands. He stepped forward, and then his foot was slipping and he was lying on the soaking ground with the air knocked from his lungs. In slow motion the bag rolled away from his fingertips, and as he crawled through the mud after it his hand slipped again. His wrist crunched beneath him, and he started to roll down the hill. Flashes of the ground and sky blurred into a dark, heaving weight that choked the air from his lungs as he rolled down and down. The ground became rockier, and now he could feel the sharp stones digging into him and drawing blood. Everything ached and heaved and pounded, until at last the ground levelled out. Juddering breaths followed one another as he lay in the mud, the rain beating him like a thousand tiny fists. Every breath sent shots of agony shooting down his arm from his wrist, and bile rose up his throat as he saw the angle it was sticking out at. As he wretched on the ground, he cradled his wrist to his chest with barely enough energy to scream. The bag containing the precious food had gone, washed away by the rain. His shoes had gone: the unfitting sneakers had just rolled off as he had travelled down the hill. There was no sign of them now, and his feet were adorned with stinging scrapes and cuts.

He didn't know how long he lay there, only that the moon was high in the sky by the time he was trekking through the barren fields once again. His toes were blue, and he left bloody footprints behind him as he trekked onwards, cradling his wrist to him. Every part of him was screaming to give up, lie back down, or find somewhere tall enough to jump from and not have to live any more. But he carried on anyway, until not even he knew what was even keeping him alive. It sure as hell wasn't faith.

As the sun rose in the sky he sank to his knees, collapsing onto the mud soaked ground. He closed his eyes and drifted away, not even caring if he would ever wake up.

That is, until a boot dug into his ribs. He twisted to the side, cradling his wrist to his chest and keeping his eyes screwed shut. The boot nudged him again, and he let out a pained groan.

"Well, the son of a bitch is still alive. You're lucky you didn't drown, considering the storm an' all." Castiel didn't care about the voice, or the owner of the boot. All he knew was that he was cold and aching and his wrist hurt and he was hungry and he wanted to go home.

Home. Home.

No. He couldn't go home. He couldn't go home.

The last thing that passed through Castiel's lips was a single plea that he would die before ever going home.

This is the start of something I'm considering writing, so if you like it and have a comment I will love you forever. Thank you for reading, and if I get a good reaction I'll continue it.

 **This is something I quite enjoyed writing. The future holds a circus, a calculating Crowley, and a green eyed boy who might even actually care (in a no homo way of course). Please please review, follow and favourite. The more reviews I get the faster I type, so please please please be generous.**


	2. Second Chances

**I still don't own these characters.**

 **A massive thank you to Readinginthedark13 for your lovely review, I'm glad you enjoyed it!**

The room was a deep purple and small, with curved walls and deep leather cushions. Everything looked luxurious and expensive, he felt like a speck of dirt that had gotten in the way. He was sat in a chair that he sank into, and he was cold. Fire burned stubbornly in front of him, and a sling confined his wrist to his chest. The bones of his arm screamed, and he suddenly sat bolt upright.

Walking from the city. The hills. The rain. The slice of bread and swallow of milk in a plastic bag. So cold. Rolling down the hill. Aching feet. Heavy boots. Green eyes.

Bolt upright, he stared around the room with fearful eyes. Everything seemed to be mahogany, with high up windows that reflected light faintly into the room. He didn't know this place, and yet it held a familiarity that sent yet another shiver through him. Back home, there had been rooms with lots of leather and thick carpets that hid any stains, be it champagne or blood. Castiel had been just four years old when he wandered in to find a man surrounded by a growing puddle of red; face down on that thick carpet.

He didn't notice the man until he moved. He was in a pressed black suit, hair impeccable and a curious look on his face. Castiel reluctantly looked him in the eye, and the man's Sound infiltrated his brain. There was something strange about the man, though. Cas could only get the occasional word, and he didn't think it was the pounding of his heartbeat drowning it out. This man was strange.

"Ahh, he has woken up." The voice was British, and as he met Castiel's eyes it allowed the Sound to become a little louder. **Strange. So strange.** Even his Sound was different: while most people's thoughts were jumbled and hurried his seemed measured, as if there was a thousand other things going on in his mind that Castiel wasn't privy to.

He stayed silent as Crowley looked at him with cool eyes, warming his tingling hands and feet on the fire. The seat was so soft he could have slept instantly, but the growing unease kept his eyes open. "What is your name?"

"Castiel." He should have given a fake name, but something in the man's unfeeling eyes told him lying would get him nowhere.

"You have a last name?"

"No. Are you the police?"

He chuckled. "Exactly the opposite matey. I don't suppose the police are your favourite people right about now." **Bless, another poor homeless boy here to eat my food and take my money. Dean better not have wasted my time.** The Sound was clearer now, and Castiel leant back down again.

"Who are you? Let me go."

"Now, that doesn't matter." **Crowley, Fergus Crowley. Mother had to give me such a ridiculous name.** "And if you've not noticed, you're not tied down." **There are three guards stationed outside, if he runs he won't get far.**

Castiel swallowed and nodded, staring at the ground. "What am I here for?"

"So many questions." **Little brat.** "I think the thing that should be on your mind at the moment is your wrist. Or maybe the cold. Or the hunger even, how long since you've had something to eat?" Crowley's Sound continued to mutter, but Castiel only noted bits and pieces. "What I'm saying is: you're hungry, cold, injured and weak. You've just woken up somewhere you don't know, and are powerless to defend yourself. So the real question is…"

Castiel cut him off. "Where am I? Why am I here?"

"Don't interrupt." **He's already annoying me.** "But you're close enough. You are in the centre of," Crowley spread his arms and put on a louder voice. "The Circus of the Supernatural. Be amazed by feats and wonders you have only ever dreamt of. And you are here because Dean-o said you were going to die if we didn't help you out. And, to be terribly honest, when you were out I heard you say some things which made me quite curious."

Now even the man's Sound was giving nothing away. "What?"

"You were asleep, and yet when my dear friend Ellen helped you, you said her full name and that of her daughter. There's no way you could have known that. So I'm curious whether you're the type that I should employ, kill and dump the body in a gutter or hand over to the authorities."

Castiel's palms started to sweat. If he were handed to the police, they would take him straight back to his family. He couldn't. Not after all this time, not after everything he'd done to stay free. "You can't."

"I can do whatever I want. Now I recommend that you try your hardest to convince me that you're worth employing here at the circus. I know that you're weak, not that smart, and can't imagine you have a stage presence."

"I can read minds. I see the words floating around their heads and I can hear it." Crowley grinned, his Sound increasing. **Lying. Or maybe… no, has to be lying. So strange, he doesn't look like a liar.**

"I don't believe you."

"I can prove it."

"Go ahead." His smirk increased, and anger bubbled in him at the mocking man.

"From this conversation, I know your name is Fergus Crowley. You're originally from Scotland, but you moved to America to make your fortune. Your mother was called Rowena, and she gave you away as a child to a cruel couple in exchange for a few pigs. You got mixed up in a bunch of arms deals and gang wars, then set this place up." He breathed in and out, looking at Crowley's angry eyes. His Sound buzzed around him like an angry wasp nest, stinging Castiel with their sharpness. The deafening silence stretched on for an eternity before he spoke again.

"Well, well. That is certainly interesting. Perhaps there is a place for you here. But first, I want to make something very clear. You are going to work on your power, and I will find a use for it. You do not tell anyone anything at all that you 'heard' from me. Anything at all interesting, you report back. If you fail to report back, or try to keep secrets, I will find a way to throw you straight back into whatever place is sending shivers down your spine right now." He paused, and Castiel almost got up before he spoke again. "Your buddy is Dean. Dean Winchester. You will follow him around; learn how the place works, from him. Find out things. Anything and everything that you hear from Dean Winchester you are going to tell me. Understand?"

"You mean, I can stay?"

Crowley raised a single eyebrow, and looked towards the door. "Well? Get the hell out of my office!"

Castiel staggering steps led him out of the… caravan? Yes. A large caravan painted a shining black, with two heavy guys outside the door and one patrolling round the back. He hobbled away, as fast as he could on bare, scraped up and stinging feet. When he turned the corner, what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

It stretched out in front of him, an endless mass of bright colours and faces and animals and Sound. A ring of dusty caravans surrounded it like the walls of a palace, and the air felt heavy with the smell of smoke and popcorn and people and toffee apples. One massive canvas tent, lit up in every colour stood proudly in the centre of it all. It was round, with the roof sloping up in the middle and the fabric full of faded pictures. In front of him the canvas flap was wide open, and a constant stream of people strolled into the murky darkness inside and emerged carrying hoops and blocks and rope and ladders. Nobody even looked in his direction. Around the ginormous tent were others: smaller but no less mysterious. One seemed totally closed off, while another had its flaps constantly open with sunlight streaming in. Stalls of every shape and size were scattered around, drawing his awe struck eyes to toffee apples and candyfloss (his stomach rumbled painfully) and hook a duck and an archery range and a lucky dip and a carousel and everything else he could imagine. What had once appeared to be a large inflatable was now laid on the floor, a distorted carcass of a bouncy castle on the grass.

He took a step forward, and promptly collapsed on the floor. Perhaps his legs were weaker than he first thought.

"The last one I had to show around could walk, at least. Do you want me to drag you?" The sudden voice shocked him, and he leaped up to his feet. Swaying, he turned his blurry vision to the one who had spoken. The boy looked about his age, but what shocked him more was that there was no Sound coming from him. Not only that, but as the guy stepped closer to hold out a hand to shake the silence muffled the Sound from the rest of the circus. He could still hear laughter and machinery and every other noise, but he couldn't hear people's Sound. He stood awestruck, adjusting to the new found quiet. Castiel had never met someone he couldn't hear the Sound of their thoughts, he didn't even think it was possible. "Uh, do they shake hands where you come from?" Castiel looked down at the offered hand, blushing and shaking it. Dean's hands were as calloused as his, and he let go and took a reluctant step back. As soon as he did the swarm of Sound hit him again, and he stared at his good hand absently. "Uh, I'm Dean Winchester. Nice to meet ya, I guess."

Castiel nodded, forcing a smile. Dean Winchester. Crap. Dean Winchester, the one boy he actually needed to listen to the thoughts of. He couldn't stay here. He had promised to tell Crowley Dean's thoughts, and if couldn't he might be sent back to his family. He shivered, staring at the ground. He had to find a way to work Dean out, or leave before the next morning.

"Castiel."

"What kind of name is that?"

"It's mine."

"Well _Castiel,_ you're useless like that. I'm gonna drop you off at Medical, see what Ellen says. Come on then, if you can walk that is." He followed, staring at the back of Dean's head as he strode along. He was trying to work out why Dean was so familiar, and why Crowley had said he insisted that Castiel be looked after. But the small tent was fast approaching, and as he walked in hesitantly he saw that it was the infirmary.

Six or so beds were arranged around, and they were all full of people is varying levels of illness or injury. Castiel followed Dean in, and they passed a small child in his mother's arms that was letting out a continuous scream. **Scared. Scared. Scared.** The Sound screamed the same word over and over again, and Cas stayed close to Dean to let the quiet wash over him. The next one they passed was a man with a large bandage over one leg, and a man in a blue tunic leaning over him. Blood dripped from under the bandage. The next was a blonde woman with a bandage over the left side of her face and her hair singed and cut unevenly. Dean sped up, and Cas lost the bubble of quiet. The next was a kid, no older than ten years old with a black eye and split lip. This one sat up when Dean came, and showed him a gap-toothed smile when he ruffled his hair. His Sound bubbled quietly. Finally they reached a bed containing a man, about eighteen years old with a mullet and a pair of crutches in his hands. His left leg was bandaged up, and his Sound was full of equations and random phrases and had a rock band playing faintly in the background.

"Budge over will you, Ash? Cas here's gonna collapse." The nickname took him back. No one had ever even known him for long enough or cared enough to shorten his name.

"But I'm injured." An older blonde lady walked up, tilting her head to the side and looking at Castiel with hard eyes. "Move it, Ash. You're only here to avoid doing any work."

"I'm getting harassed from all sides." The man, Ash his name was, complained. He shuffled off the bed, exaggerating with his crutches as he let Cas climb on in his place. He felt bad for making the man move, but he seemed perfectly fine leaning on his crutches and both his wrists and battered, bleeding feet were hurting more and more.

"Okay then, Cas. My name's Ellen. I'm gonna bandage your wrist again, give you some ice for the swelling and then see what I can do about your other injuries." Even with the warning, the first gentle touch of her hands made him flinch away. He held himself as well as he could as she carefully took off the sling and unwrapped the bandage from his arm. It was swollen and red, and Dean took a step away. Immediately the sound got louder, and Cas tensed up. Ellen wrapped some more bandages round, and with gentle touch and an antiseptic wipe started to wipe the dried blood from his feet. It stung sharply, but he forced himself to take deep, even breaths. "Winchester, go and see if you can't find some shoes for Cas here. And tell one of the others that we need some new sheets, okay?" Dean nodded and disappeared, and the Sound of the place washed over him like a tidal wave. He could suddenly hear screaming and crying ten times louder, see images of bones cracking and snapped, people falling and getting attacked. He saw the ten year old from earlier looking up at his father with wide, confused eyes and desperately wonder what he did wrong.

 _He was four years old, and babbling the Sound he heard to his father to try and impress him. His dad's hands shook as he locked the door, and Castiel had pressed his chubby hands against the door and counted. When he reached the end his dad was going to come back and hug him tight. But when the door opened it wasn't his dad, it was a man and a woman in long white coats that scared him so much._

He wasn't sure what even happened. One moment he was laid there, and the next he was shoving Ellen out of the way and running from the overcrowded tent. He didn't stop until he had found a corner behind a caravan that was quiet enough to hear his own frantic thoughts.

An hour had passed before a heavy weight sat down beside him, and the quiet washed over his tired brain again. Dean was sat beside him for a minute or two before he spoke. "You can run quite fast considering the state of your feet."

"The adrenaline."

"Yeah, I guessed. Took me ages to find you. Thought you might have run out. Good job this is Sammy's favourite place to hide, or I might not have found you."

"I'm sorry."

"Isn't me you need to apologise to. Ellen's fine, but you owe her an apology."

"Yes, I do." The silence grew thick again between them.

"Who's Sammy?" He felt guilty for asking, but Crowley's threat was hovering at the front of his mind.

"Sam's my little brother. He's twelve. Lucas, that kid you saw with the black eye, he's one of Sam's friends."

"Who hit him?"

"They think his dad. We look out for each other here, he'll get what's coming to him." Dean voice turned serious and hard within a second, and he balled his hands into fists.

The silence continued on, and Cas turned to look Dean in the eye for the first time. He had piercing green eyes and freckles, one long jagged scar from his eye to his chin. It was like someone tried to cut him in half. The remnants of a bruise sat on his sharp jaw, and his hair was short and spiky. The face was achingly familiar, but he didn't know quite how.

"You can sleep in the little caravan tonight. It's me and Sam's turn, but we can share a bunk. Ellen's gonna come and bandage you up, so you don't get infected. Yeah." Dean dragged his hands down his face, looking tired. The sun was coming down, and with Dean sat by his side the Sound was more manageable.

Dean stood up and Cas followed him, his feet still bare and numb from the cold. The caravan was small; with dents on the wall and one small window that was far too grubby to serve its purpose. The door creaked and squeaked, and there was barely enough room for him and Dean to stand up straight. The carpets were sticky. The bunk bed groaned and complained without them even touching it. The damp caravan couldn't be further away from home. He loved it.

"You can have the bottom bunk, me and Sam'll take the top. If you take the top and fall, I don't want to be the one to tell Crowley I got you killed on your first day." Cas nodded, sitting down. He had slept on pieces of cardboard comfier.

"What if it collapses?"

"Well, it won't matter to you 'cause you'll be crushed. If you don't like it you can sleep outside." His voice was sharp, and his eyes were hard enough to show that he would actually carry out the threat.

"This is good." He paused, until Dean turned away. "Thank you."

Dean shrugged, walking out the door. "I'll leave you alone, you look like you need the extra sleep. Ellen'll come in some time, and I'll find Sam. See ya in the morning." He left, and Cas lay back down. The door creaked again, and Dean peaked his head back in. "And dude, in the morning you need to shower for like a week." Dean laughed, and Cas found himself grinning along. The door closed, and the little bubble of quiet slowly disappeared.

He lay back and listened. People walked past, but for now the Sound of the place didn't bother him. And knowing that Dean would be back in here with his Quiet… he had never felt further away from the hellish place he had grown up in. He knew that he should leave, but sleep was starting to pull him in, and the place was warm and soft and almost safe. He closed his tired eyes, and drifted away at last.


	3. Quiet

**The unevenness of the first two chapters annoyed me, so I've chopped the second one in half and posted it as a third chapter. Sorry for any inconveniences caused!**

Castiel nodded, forcing a smile. Dean Winchester. Crap. Dean Winchester, the one boy he actually needed to listen to the thoughts of. He couldn't stay here. He had promised to tell Crowley Dean's thoughts, and if couldn't he might be sent back to his family. He shivered, staring at the ground. He had to find a way to work Dean out, or leave before the next morning.

"Castiel."

"What kind of name is that?"

"It's mine."

"Well _Castiel,_ you're useless like that. I'm gonna drop you off at Medical, see what Ellen says. Come on then, if you can walk that is." He followed, staring at the back of Dean's head as he strode along. He was trying to work out why Dean was so familiar, and why Crowley had said he insisted that Castiel be looked after. But the small tent was fast approaching, and as he walked in hesitantly he saw that it was the infirmary.

Six or so beds were arranged around, and they were all full of people is varying levels of illness or injury. Castiel followed Dean in, and they passed a small child in his mother's arms that was letting out a continuous scream. **Scared. Scared. Scared.** The Sound screamed the same word over and over again, and Cas stayed close to Dean to let the quiet wash over him. The next one they passed was a man with a large bandage over one leg, and a man in a blue tunic leaning over him. Blood dripped from under the bandage. The next was a blonde woman with a bandage over the left side of her face and her hair singed and cut unevenly. Dean sped up, and Cas lost the bubble of quiet. The next was a kid, no older than ten years old with a black eye and split lip. This one sat up when Dean came, and showed him a gap-toothed smile when he ruffled his hair. His Sound bubbled quietly. Finally they reached a bed containing a man, about eighteen years old with a mullet and a pair of crutches in his hands. His left leg was bandaged up, and his Sound was full of equations and random phrases and had a rock band playing faintly in the background.

"Budge over will you, Ash? Cas here's gonna collapse." The nickname took him back. No one had ever even known him for long enough or cared enough to shorten his name.

"But I'm injured." An older blonde lady walked up, tilting her head to the side and looking at Castiel with hard eyes. "Move it, Ash. You're only here to avoid doing any work."

"I'm getting harassed from all sides." The man, Ash his name was, complained. He shuffled off the bed, exaggerating with his crutches as he let Cas climb on in his place. He felt bad for making the man move, but he seemed perfectly fine leaning on his crutches and both his wrists and battered, bleeding feet were hurting more and more.

"Okay then, Cas. My name's Ellen. I'm gonna bandage your wrist again, give you some ice for the swelling and then see what I can do about your other injuries." Even with the warning, the first gentle touch of her hands made him flinch away. He held himself as well as he could as she carefully took off the sling and unwrapped the bandage from his arm. It was swollen and red, and Dean took a step away. Immediately the sound got louder, and Cas tensed up. Ellen wrapped some more bandages round, and with gentle touch and an antiseptic wipe started to wipe the dried blood from his feet. It stung sharply, but he forced himself to take deep, even breaths. "Winchester, go and see if you can't find some shoes for Cas here. And tell one of the others that we need some new sheets, okay?" Dean nodded and disappeared, and the Sound of the place washed over him like a tidal wave. He could suddenly hear screaming and crying ten times louder, see images of bones cracking and snapped, people falling and getting attacked. He saw the ten year old from earlier looking up at his father with wide, confused eyes and desperately wonder what he did wrong.

 _He was four years old, and babbling the Sound he heard to his father to try and impress him. His dad's hands shook as he locked the door, and Castiel had pressed his chubby hands against the door and counted. When he reached the end his dad was going to come back and hug him tight. But when the door opened it wasn't his dad, it was a man and a woman in long white coats that scared him so much._

He wasn't sure what even happened. One moment he was laid there, and the next he was shoving Ellen out of the way and running from the overcrowded tent. He didn't stop until he had found a corner behind a caravan that was quiet enough to hear his own frantic thoughts.

An hour had passed before a heavy weight sat down beside him, and the quiet washed over his tired brain again. Dean was sat beside him for a minute or two before he spoke. "You can run quite fast considering the state of your feet."

"The adrenaline."

"Yeah, I guessed. Took me ages to find you. Thought you might have run out. Good job this is Sammy's favourite place to hide, or I might not have found you."

"I'm sorry."

"Isn't me you need to apologise to. Ellen's fine, but you owe her an apology."

"Yes, I do." The silence grew thick again between them.

"Who's Sammy?" He felt guilty for asking, but Crowley's threat was hovering at the front of his mind.

"Sam's my little brother. He's twelve. Lucas, that kid you saw with the black eye, he's one of Sam's friends."

"Who hit him?"

"They think his dad. We look out for each other here, he'll get what's coming to him." Dean voice turned serious and hard within a second, and he balled his hands into fists.

The silence continued on, and Cas turned to look Dean in the eye for the first time. He had piercing green eyes and freckles, one long jagged scar from his eye to his chin. It was like someone tried to cut him in half. The remnants of a bruise sat on his sharp jaw, and his hair was short and spiky. The face was achingly familiar, but he didn't know quite how.

"You can sleep in the little caravan tonight. It's me and Sam's turn, but we can share a bunk. Ellen's gonna come and bandage you up, so you don't get infected. Yeah." Dean dragged his hands down his face, looking tired. The sun was coming down, and with Dean sat by his side the Sound was more manageable.

Dean stood up and Cas followed him, his feet still bare and numb from the cold. The caravan was small; with dents on the wall and one small window that was far too grubby to serve its purpose. The door creaked and squeaked, and there was barely enough room for him and Dean to stand up straight. The carpets were sticky. The bunk bed groaned and complained without them even touching it. The damp caravan couldn't be further away from home. He loved it.

"You can have the bottom bunk, me and Sam'll take the top. If you take the top and fall, I don't want to be the one to tell Crowley I got you killed on your first day." Cas nodded, sitting down. He had slept on pieces of cardboard comfier.

"What if it collapses?"

"Well, it won't matter to you 'cause you'll be crushed. If you don't like it you can sleep outside." His voice was sharp, and his eyes were hard enough to show that he would actually carry out the threat.

"This is good." He paused, until Dean turned away. "Thank you."

Dean shrugged, walking out the door. "I'll leave you alone, you look like you need the extra sleep. Ellen'll come in some time, and I'll find Sam. See ya in the morning." He left, and Cas lay back down. The door creaked again, and Dean peaked his head back in. "And dude, in the morning you need to shower for like a week." Dean laughed, and Cas found himself grinning along. The door closed, and the little bubble of quiet slowly disappeared.

He lay back and listened. People walked past, but for now the Sound of the place didn't bother him. And knowing that Dean would be back in here with his Quiet… he had never felt further away from the hellish place he had grown up in. He knew that he should leave, but sleep was starting to pull him in, and the place was warm and soft and almost safe. He closed his tired eyes, and drifted away at last.


	4. Green Eyes

**This is the fourth chapter of the story. I hope you're enjoying it! I'm going to write as much as possible as quickly as possible, but I'm going to be away for week where I won't have my laptop or wifi, so I won't post for a while. Reviews, follows and favourites really encourage me to write, and I will love you forever if I have some to come back to.**

 **Soon, I'm going to start incorporating some more characters into the story as well as I can. If anyone has any suggestions, please leave them in the comments. Thank you, enjoy!**

Ellen had walked in about an hour after Dean left, holding antiseptic cream and with a no-nonsense look on her face. He apologised and she raised an eyebrow, but her Sound was kind and forgiving. She cleaned the dried blood off his numb feet, didn't show the sadness clear in her Sound on her face and found him some thick socks to try and work some heat back into his feet. He lay back and listened to her noise; she was one of those vibrant people who thought quickly and wasn't afraid to acknowledge that she loved her family. Ellen's family seemed to include every kid in the place, but one thought she always returned back to was a girl about fourteen with blonde hair and a grin on her face. The girl was called Jo, and was Ellen's daughter. She loved her resolutely and fiercely. Her thoughts often returned to Dean and Sam – Sam was a boy around twelve with big eyes and a bigger smile – and Cas learnt that they had come to the circus six years earlier at about the same time Ellen had. When Ellen thought do Sam she smiled to herself, but when she thought of Dean her Noise became darker and sombre.

After that he slept and slept, until a banging of a door woke him up sharply with a shout on his lips and sweat forming on his brow. Breathing deeply, he lay back down, but couldn't sleep again.

Venturing out of the bunk and sitting against the door on the stained carpet, he rested his head back and took a deep breath. Sunlight was filtering through the dirty window. This place could keep him safe, keep him warm, and keep him well fed. All he had to do was report on Dean. Looking back towards his little bunk, he saw something slung over the little ladder connecting it with the others. It was a t-shirt and jeans, with a pair of sneakers underneath. When he tried them on they bit his toes and made his feet ache and burn, so he slipped them off and instead put on the jeans and t-shirt. The jeans were rough against his legs and the t-shirt felt strange compared to his coat and shirt, but it was something. The clothes he had been wearing were so full of holes, dirt, and branches they were useless, but he would miss his trench coat.

His feet hurt, and bandages were wrapped around the soles of his feet. Blue, swollen toes ached insistently, and it hurt to put his weight of it. His wrist hurt like hell, but he'd done worse and carried on walking.

He hobbled out of the caravan, and immediately got mobbed by an army of about one thousand little kids. Their excited Sound bombarded him, and he stepped backwards against the caravan to ward them away. The kids ranged from snotty nosed and grinning toddlers to scruffy twelve year olds, and behind them strolled a brunette who was giggling at the sight. She looked the same age as him, and carried a baby in her arms. A tiny hand clutched at his jeans, and they were all talking at him in their little kid babble. He smiled awkwardly, trying to back away but being cornered by the mass of them. Finally the brunette arrived, and took one toddler's arm and tugged them away.

"Leave the man alone. Come on, give him some space. Yes, I know you haven't met him before but there'll be plenty of time for that." At last they backed away, wandering away as they got distracted. A group of twelve year olds disappeared behind a caravan, and the girl called after them before shrugging and shaking her head. "Sorry about that. I got this job, so I'm trying. I'm Lisa. You?"

"Uh, Cas." She smiled at him. She was pretty when she smiled, and the baby gurgled in her arms. Lisa's Sound was sweet, her mind constantly keeping track of the infants walking around her. The baby's Sound was the same of every other. **Love. Warm. Safe. Love.**

His thoughts were interrupted when she saw the pair of shoes in his one working hand, and the bare, bloody and battered feet on the soaked grass. "Oh my God, are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." She looked around, wide concerned eyes clearly looking for something to do. Quiet washed over him and he span around, suddenly nose-to-nose with Dean. The lack of Sound gave his aching brain a break. Emerald eyes took up all his vision, until Dean took a violent step backwards and scratched the back of his neck.

"Hi Cas?" He smiled awkwardly, taking yet another step back. "Oh, Lisa. What's up?"

"Dean, you know Cas?" Lisa had one hand on her hip, and her voice showed she wasn't messing around.

"Yeah."

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Dean looked slightly scared, but reluctantly followed her a few metres away. He could hear her Sound vaguely, but Dean's silence was all but drowning her out. Dean winked at him and raised an eyebrow, and Castiel chuckled as Lisa slapped him on the arm. A six year old with short, choppy hair grinned at him, and he smiled back awkwardly.

A minute or so later, Dean and Lisa returned. Lisa had a determined look on her face, and as she started to talk the baby gurgled happily. "Alright, I'm going to ask Joey if he can sort Cas out with some time in the shower."

"Cause Joey needs to smell even worse. If anyone needs a shower, it's him." She glared at him until he shut up, and Dean nudged Cas when she looked away.

"Then I'm going to see if I can get Ellen or someone to get you something for your feet and your wrist."

"Then a haircut." Lisa glared at Dean again, punching him on the arm. Her Sound was happy though, and he saw a reflection of Lisa and Dean kissing, giggling beneath an oak tree and hugging in a tiny caravan. Then he saw the two of them stood further apart, shouting and storming off. Lisa had tears in her eyes and Dean was scratching the back of his neck, their lips moving as they shouted and screamed empty words.

"Do you want a haircut, Cas?"

Before he could react, Dean interrupted again. "Look, Sammy insists on looking like a spaniel, I'm not dealing with another one." Cas just nodded, smiling slightly that Dean even wanted him to be around long enough to bother.

"Fine. I'll ask Joey. Dean, you can look after the kids until I get back." She shot him a glare, and he put his hands up in surrender.

"I'll look after Ben if you want. Only for five minutes." She thought for a second, and her Sound reminded her of bittersweet memories of Dean cradling her baby brother in his hands with this look of kindness of his face. In the memory Dean's scar seemed faded, his grin big as he held the baby close to him. He seemed soft and happy, and Cas found himself smiling at the love in his eyes.

She passed the baby to Dean, who held him carefully and smiled at her reassuringly. As she walked away Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder, pointedly avoiding looking at his injuries. Compared to the memory Dean's scar was prominent and his jaw was sharp, his arms were more muscled and his eyes a sharper shade of green. The smile died on Cas's face.

The baby held in his arms with a surprising tenderness, Dean started to herd the kids into a big group. While they had clamoured for Lisa's attention, they roared for Dean's. Within a few seconds he had three toddlers clinging to him, and anyone older talking at him one hundred miles an hour. He looked at Cas for help, but he had already gone to rest against the caravan. His whole body was screaming at him, and spouts of dizziness were starting to make him think he'd fall. Dean raised an eyebrow and he nodded that he was okay, watching the kids grin up at Dean like he was their hero. Each had baggy, ripped clothes and not many had shoes, and some had little pieces of bread or biscuits clutched in their little hands.

Dean looked at Lisa like she was a goddess, and she looked at him like she was one smile away from forgiving him. Something had broken them up, but he didn't know what. It wasn't his business, of course. It had nothing to do with him if Dean loved a tall, beautiful brunette with a pretty smile. At least it was something to tell Crowley. As Lisa came back holding a battered key he forced the thoughts from his brain and the strange mourning feeling from his stomach. As he walked away Dean's arm hovered close to his, probably to catch him if he would fall. Even as Cas told himself that again and again, red started to tint his cheeks.


End file.
